


beholding heaven, feeling hell

by Potrix



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Family, Fatherhood, First Kiss, Found Family, Friendship, Full Shift Werewolves, Good-ish Peter Hale, Grief/Mourning, Helplessness, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Peter Hale, Pack Building, Parent Death, Parenthood, Sad and Happy, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Single Parents, Slow Burn, Step-parents, Young Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-04-03 20:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14004207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: With a deep sigh, Peter unlocks his car, tucks his briefcase under his seat, and then just breathes for a few long moments, head tipped back, and eyes closed. He’s had a throbbing headache behind his right eye ever since Cora’s crying fit over breakfast, alpha healing completely useless against it, and had to schedule a last-minute appointment for his lunch break, meaning the last and only thing he’s eaten today was the piece of buttered toast Derek had refused.He’s been running on coffee and sheer stubbornness for the past six months, and he doesn’t see it changing any time soon.Or; Peter is put in charge of his nieces and nephew after his sister's untimely death, and, although he's loath to admit it, he's not handling it well. And he definitely doesn't have time for a crush.





	1. Prologue - March

**Author's Note:**

> This is partly inspired by [pprfaith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pprfaith/pseuds/pprfaith)'s [Naughty Hookers (Swathed in Wool)](https://archiveofourown.org/series/554683) series. 
> 
> I've had this vague idea of a Peter/John AU floating around my head for a while now, and finally decided to give it a go. This is the prologue, the first real chapter is already written, and will be posted next week. I'll keep chapters relatively short, but will try to update regulary to make up for it. We'll see how it goes. 
> 
> This is my first time writing this pairing, so, please, let me know what you think. I've planned the whole story, but I'm more than happy to hear your ideas and suggestions, and will try to work them in if it goes with the outline I have so far.
> 
> Rated E mainly for swearing, canon-typical violence in later chapters, and (hopefully) some smut in the epilogue.
> 
>  **Warnings for this chapter:** Some swearing, background/implied minor character death, some mild, one-time sexual content between Peter and an OMC.
> 
> Enjoy!

▪◦▪ remorse: beholding heaven and feeling hell ▪◦▪

Peter is still breathing hard, his bare chest sweaty and heaving, when his phone starts vibrating across the nightstand. On the other side of the bed, Jasper makes an grumpy noise before rolling over and half on top of Peter with a grunt, pinning him down. 

“Ignore it,” he murmurs into Peter’s neck, fangs prickling at Peter’s skin. “They’ll leave a message if it’s important.” 

More than happy to do just that, Peter tilts his head back, baring his throat. Jasper moans happily, and latches on immediately, biting and sucking at Peter’s neck none too gently. It always sends a shiver down Peter’s spine, to have someone other than his Alpha or a potential mate scent him like this; intimate, inappropriate, frowned upon. It’s just not done, to have a casual fuck, a strange Beta mark him up like this, stake a claim he doesn’t have. 

Peter loves it. Loves the forbidden thrill of it, how it makes his heart beat wildly, his claws itch to spring free, to let his wolf run wild. Nothing feels more liberating, to him, than willingly, blithely giving away something he should, according to everyone else, be guarding closely.

Usually it does, anyway. Right now, though, offering himself up like this, being vulnerable, makes him squirm, an odd unease fighting its way through his arousal. Annoyed, Peter screws his eyes shut tighter, fingers digging into Jasper’s back, and tries to relax, but to no avail. Something feels different, feels wrong all of a sudden, and before he’s entirely aware of what he’s doing, Peter pushes Jasper away, flips them over, and presses Jasper into the mattress, growling down at him in warning. 

Jasper raises his eyebrows, looking both confused and amused. “What? Getting impatient already?”

Peter growls again, meaner, and snaps his teeth, not letting go when Jasper goes to sit up. Jasper has to put real force behind it before Peter’s wolf finally allows it, and he’s cautious of where he puts his hands, lightly stroking them up and down Peter’s sides, while Peter keeps his teeth bared at him. 

“Hey, come on,” he says, pushing his hips up, his erection rubbing against Peter’s ass, “don’t be like that. Let me make it good for you, hmm?”

Yes, Peter thinks, that’s what he wants. What he wants to want. But, inside, his wolf is howling, angry and on edge, making Peter twitch, shying away from Jasper’s wandering hands. He breathes slow and deep through his mouth, brows furrowed, taking in the smells of the room, their combined scents, but instead of soothing him, it almost makes him recoil. 

He rubs a hand across his chest, right over his heart, unable to focus, vision going slightly blurry. And then it hits him, like a punch to the gut, a blazing power he’d never thought he’d have to learn to wield or control. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, and pushes away from Jasper. He stumbles when he gets up, his legs nearly giving out under him. “Fuck, fucking shit.”

When Jasper follows, tries to put a hand on his shoulder, Peter grabs his wrist, hard enough to feel the bones grate together, to make Jasper wince. “Peter, don’t be an asshole. What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“Shut up, just,” Peter groans, around a mouthful of fangs, “just get out, get away from me. Get the fuck out.” 

For a moment, he thinks Jasper’s going to refuse, to challenge him, but then Jasper just huffs, rolls his eyes, and yanks his hand back. Or tries to. He has to do it twice before Peter can make his fingers uncurl. “Whatever, I’m over this. Call me when you’re done being an uptight bitch. I’m out of here.”

Peter doesn’t watch Jasper collect his clothes. He staggers over to the bathroom instead, banging the door closed behind himself, and locking it for good measure. He braces his shaking hands against the sink, watching the marble crack under his fingers, and lets out a too loud, echoing, slightly hysterical laugh. 

When he lifts his head, and meets his gaze in the mirror, his eyes are a deep, bloody red.


	2. Chapter 1 - October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'll keep chapters short so I can update more quickly. Also me: ...well. Short-ish?

Peter is running late by the time he finally—and not entirely politely—gets his last client of the day out of the door. He should’ve been on his way to the school forty minutes ago, and has already resigned himself to another lecture about timeliness and responsibility from Laura’s teacher, as well as the tantrum Laura’s undoubtedly going to throw once she realises they still have to pick up Derek and Cora, and are going to miss the first half of her karate class. 

With a deep sigh, Peter unlocks his car, tucks his briefcase under his seat, and then just breathes for a few long moments, head tipped back, and eyes closed. He’s had a throbbing headache behind his right eye ever since Cora’s crying fit over breakfast, alpha healing completely useless against it, and had to schedule a last-minute appointment for his lunch break, meaning the last and only thing he’s eaten today was the piece of buttered toast Derek had refused. 

He’s been running on coffee and sheer stubbornness for the past six months, and he doesn’t see it changing any time soon. 

“Damn it, Talia,” he mutters as he straightens back up, and starts the engine. “I’m not cut out for this.”

But he pulls out into the street anyway, because there’s nothing for it. 

Laura’s already in a foul mood when he arrives at the school, working on a math sheet in her teacher’s office, the last kid waiting to be picked up. As usual. She glares at Peter as she packs up her bag, and impatiently taps her foot, arms crossed over her chest, while Peter signs her out. 

Mrs Bonneville looks about equally unimpressed with Peter, her lips pursed tightly, and her gaze clearly disapproving over the rim of her glasses. “Mr Hale, if you have a minute? As I am sure you’re well aware, our after school care center closes at five o’clock. Laura is a bright young girl, and it’s a pleasure to have her here in the afternoons, but—”

“And we appreciate it,” Peter cuts in, smiling his most charming smile, dimples on full display. He ignores Laura’s huffed, “Oh my god, Uncle Peter,” and goes on, widening his eyes, “We can’t thank you enough for all your help, we would have been truly lost without you this semester.”

From the sound of it, Laura has just facepalmed behind his back, but Mrs Bonneville’s stern expression is softening somewhat. “Everyone here at the school is very sensitive to your circumstances,” she says, making Peter grit his teeth, “and how difficult the last few months have been for your family.” She pushes her glasses back up her nose, and starts picking up her papers. “Try not to be late on Monday, Mr Hale.” 

“You’re so embarrassing,” Laura hisses as soon as they’re outside, and Peter’s not one-hundred percent sure the elbow he gets to the gut when she pulls off her backpack once they reach the car is an accident. And when she sees that the backseat’s empty, Laura whirls around, and demands accusingly, “Where are Derek and Cora?” 

“We’re picking them up now,” Peter says, opening the door for her. 

Laura growls, throwing her backpack at Peter, and stomps her foot. “I’m going to be late!” 

“You definitely will be if you don’t get in the car,” Peter points out, which earns him a withering look, even as Laura does climb into her booster seat. “Thank you. Don’t forget your seatbelt.” 

Peter tries to ask about her day, but Laura stares out of the window, stubbornly ignoring him. Peter gives up after a few minutes, and the rest of the drive to the Krasikevas’ house passes in tense silence. 

Derek and Paige are sitting outside on the porch swing when Peter pulls up to the curb, reading a book together while Anna works in the garden. She pulls off her gloves to wave at Peter, then turns to say something to Paige and Derek. Paige pouts but nods, and gives Derek a hug before sliding off the swing to head inside. 

“Stressful day?” Anna asks, smiling kindly and patting Peter’s arm once he’s out of the car. “We made some cookies this afternoon. If you’re lucky, Derek might share.” 

The boy in question attaches himself to Peter’s legs right then, squashing his face against Peter’s hip. His hair is slightly damp, and he smells like an unfamiliar shower gel, underlaid with the faintest hint of cinnamon from, Peter guesses, the snickerdoodles in his backpack. He’s also wearing a pair of purple leggings with cartoon kittens on them that Peter’s never seen before. 

“Thanks for today,” Peter says, and picks Derek up, kissing the side of his head when Derek buries his face in Peter’s neck. “Are you sure you don’t want—”

“We’ve been over this, Peter,” Anna chides, clucking her tongue. “You’re not paying me to watch my daughter’s best friend every once in a while.” She leans in to ruffle Derek’s hair, smiling at him when he peeks at her. “I’ll see you next week, honey, okay?”

She waits a few feet away while Peter buckles Derek into his car seat, gesturing Peter over when he’s done. “Derek’s had another accident today,” she says, voice lowered, mindful of the kids. Peter winces, because curious little werewolf ears will definitely pick their conversation up anyway. Anna, misunderstanding his reaction, hastens to reassure, “You know it’s normal, it happens. A bath was the best course of action anyway, after our little baking adventure.” 

And, sure enough, when Peter’s back in the car and looks back at the Derek and Laura, Derek’s shoulders are hunched, his eyes suspiciously damp, and he reeks of shame and embarrassment. 

“Derek—” Peter starts, but cuts himself off with a sigh when Derek turns his head away, trying to hide his face in the hood of his sweatshirt. 

The therapist both Derek and Laura have been seeing ever since the fire had warned Peter to expect changes in all the kids’ behaviour—like Cora’s general fussiness, Laura’s aggression, and Derek’s bedwetting problem—and Peter knows all of it is perfectly normal, after experiencing trauma like they have. He hasn’t figured out how to convince Derek of that yet, though. 

They, unsurprisingly, hit some rush-hour traffic on the way to Cora’s daycare, and when they have to wait two turns at a red light a couple of minutes later, Laura’s had enough. She starts kicking the back of Peter’s seat, snapping at him to go faster, and scratching at the upholstery with her claws. 

Peter ignores her—he’s given up on his car ever being clean or whole again months ago—and Laura, once she realises she won’t be getting a reaction out of him, turns her anger on Derek. “Only babies pee their pants, you know that, right?”

Derek scowls at her, but his lower lip is wobbling when Peter glances at him through the rearview mirror. 

“Laura,” he warns, but Laura just glares at him, and continues, tauntingly, “Only dumb babies. Dumb, stupid babies who—”

“Laura, that’s enough,” Peter says firmly, turning around to shoot her a disapproving look. Going by her exaggerated eye-roll, it doesn’t work. “We’ve talked about this with Dr Holland. Derek’s doing the best he can right now, we all are, and—”

“Well, your best sucks!” Laura yells, viciously enough to actually startle Peter quiet. “Your best sucks, and you suck! Everything sucks! Things were better when mom was still here, she never—”

“Your mother is gone, Laura, and she’s not coming back!” Peter roars, and he can feel the red bleed into his eyes, can hear the leather of the steering wheel groan from the pressure of his white-knuckled grip.

He regrets the words the instant they leave his mouth, but it’s already too late; Laura’s mouth shuts with an audible click, her eyes growing wide, and Derek whimpers, hiccups wetly, and starts crying. No one says anything else until the car behind them honks impatiently, and Peter has to turn back around to focus on driving. 

He’s still shaking—and shaken up—when he parks in front of the daycare five minutes later. He doesn’t ask if Derek and Laura want to come in to get Cora, because he knows he can’t handle all three of them together right now, and leaves them in the car with a terse, “I’ll be right back.” 

A few of the parents waiting and talking in the hall give him wary looks as he stalks inside, and he knows they’ll be gossiping as soon as he’s out of assumed earshot, but he really can’t bring himself to care. He follows his nose to the play room, where Cora’s scent is strongest, but stops short a few steps away from the door when he hears Cora giggle. 

It makes his chest feel tight that the sound is foreign enough to take him aback, and he has to take a moment to compose himself—if he had the energy, he would be mortified by his wavering control today—before he dares to poke his head into the room. 

Cora’s sitting on one of the playmats, chewing on the ear of her favourite stuffed bunny, which isn’t anything unusual. What does surprise Peter, however, are the man and the little boy sitting next to her, the latter chattering incessantly, and the fact that Cora doesn’t seem to mind them. She isn’t fond of non-pack members, normally, but, as Peter watches, the boy stacks a couple of foam blocks, babbles something at Cora, and then they both giggle when she kicks at the blocks to topple them over. 

The man chuckles, and hands the blocks back, affectionately ruffling the boy’s hair. The boy hums, talking a mile a minute in mostly unintelligible baby talk, while the man nods along, smiling softly. “Again?” he asks, and both Cora and the boy make excited noises. “All right, kiddo, one more time.” 

Peter watches as they repeat their stack, kick, giggle game, absolutely delighted by it every single time. He tries to be quiet stepping into the room, but Cora must hear him anyway, because she looks up, grinning around the bunny ear still in her mouth. 

The man looks over as well, making Peter hope he doesn’t look too tired and deranged, because he’s incredibly hot, for one, and also, Peter realises, the freakin Sheriff. Because of course he is. That’s just Peter’s luck. 

“Sheriff,” he greets, walking over to pick Cora up. She gives a disgruntled grunt at being separated from the little boy, but snuggles against Peter’s chest, and only pouts a little.

The Sheriff stands as well, settling the little boy on his hip. “John, please,” he says, offering his hand. “I’m off duty. And this is Stiles.”

Stiles perks up even more at the mention of his name, wiggling around in his father’s hold, smiling up at him, and still prattling on about who knows what. The Sheriff, John, shoots Peter a look, as if to say, “What can you do?” but it’s more fond than anything else. 

Belatedly, Peter remembers to say, “Peter, in that case,” and shake the man’s hand. 

They’d met, officially, a few times when Peter first came back to town, mostly concerning the investigation into the fire before it was ruled an accident due to faulty wiring. John had also handed Peter a card with his number and email address during their last appointment, and told Peter to call in case he ever needed anything. Peter’d bristled at the suggestion that he wouldn’t be able to handle things on his own, thrown the card into a random drawer, and never taken the man up on his offer, too proud at first, and too embarrassed later on.

John obviously doesn’t hold any of that against him, though, making friendly small talk as they walk out together to gather the kids’ things. Cora fusses while Peter puts on her jacket, and John stifles a laugh when Peter huffs, and doesn’t even bother with her shoes. Peter would be annoyed if it didn’t sound so honestly sympathetic. And if Stiles wasn’t currently slobbering all over John’s collar. 

“I was wondering,” John says, on their way to the parking lot. “Do you have any plans this weekend?” When Peter quirks an eyebrow at him, he elaborates, “Stiles hasn’t been getting along with most of the other kids so far. Probably because I’ve mostly been taking him to the station with me,” he makes a face, smelling guilty, “and he’s never really been around anyone his age before. He seems to like Cora, though, so I thought we could set something up? See if this was a fluke or not.”

It’s not a bad idea, but Peter still hesitates. Introducing the kids to new people, especially ones not in the know about the supernatural, is always risky, with all of them still cautious around strangers, and none of them in full control of their shifts and powers yet. Peter’s genuinely surprised that there hasn’t been an incident he needed to explain away—or pay his way out of—at school or kindergarten yet.

“Also,” John continues, smiling conspiratorially, and bumps his shoulder against Peter’s, “I make some mean pancakes.”

“‘Cakes!” Stiles shrieks, prompting Cora into yelling excitedly, both of them bouncing around and cooing at each other. 

And, well. After the mess of a day he’s had, it’s hard to resist Cora when she’s being so uncharacteristically lively and joyful. “Pancakes, you say?” 

“Great!” John’s still smiling, dodging Stiles’ flailing arms with what looks like practiced ease. “Sunday work for you? Let’s say nine-ish? Or have the older two discovered sleeping in yet?”

Peter snorts. “I wish.” He adjusts Cora, who’s doing her best to flop right out of his arms in her quest to reach Stiles. “Nine should work, barring any major mishaps. Fingers crossed.”

“Fingers crossed,” John agrees, laughing. 

They part ways after John types his address into Peter’s phone, and Peter uses the rest of the walk back to his car to tell himself to calm down. If arranging a playdate for his toddler niece with the town Sheriff's son getting him all hot and bothered doesn’t say it’s been too long since he’s gotten any action, he doesn’t know what does. 

Laura looks sheepish when Peter unlocks the car, and he gets why a moment later when he finds Derek’s clothes in his seat, but no Derek. 

“No one saw,” Laura says nervously, “I made sure. But he really wanted to change.”

“That’s fine,” Peter says, strapping Cora into her own seat. “Thank you for helping sweetheart.”

He runs a hand over Laura’s hair, hugging back tightly when Laura throws her arms around his neck. She clings for a few moments, rubbing their cheeks together, before pulling back when Cora protests about being ignored. Peter presses a kiss to her temple, and then one to the top of Cora’s head before closing the door, and slipping back into the driver’s eat. 

Derek props his head up on the center console, whining softly, tail wagging against the floor when Peter scratches between his ears. “Stay down while we’re driving, darling.”

“Uncle Peter,” Laura mumbles, chewing her bottom lip. “I don’t—can we just go home, now? Please?”

Peter probably shouldn’t encourage skipping practice, but screw it. He is done with this whole day. “How about we pick up some pizza on the way?”

Laura cheers, grinning, and Derek starts licking Peter's fingers. Peter takes it for the aprroval it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=to7uIG8KYhg) is what I think of when I imagine Cora and Stiles cooing and bouncing around. 
> 
> Also, because canon gives us very little background on the Hales (and this went completely AU anyway), I just picked ages for everyone. Laura is 9, Derek is nearly 5, Cora is a little over 1, and Stiles is a couple of months older than Cora. John is in his mid-30s, and Peter's in his late 20s.


	3. Chapter 2 - October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look what's back, yo!
> 
>  **Warnings** for this chapter: brief talk about the deaths of the Hale parents and Claudia.

Somehow, despite all three kids being awake by 6:15 on Sunday morning, Peter still manages to run late for brunch with the Stilinskis.

Cora decides it’s a great idea to unscrew the top of her bottle when Peter isn’t looking, and then pour her formula all over herself. She ends up covered from head to toe, somehow, despite her bib, happily smacking her hands into the milk that’s pooling on the tray of her highchair. 

Peter’s tempted to prompt her into a shift, and just hose her down outside in the driveway, but they have nosey neighbours, now that they’re not living out in the preserve anymore, who’d probably call animal control. Or CPS. So Peter takes her back upstairs for a bath and a new onesie, only to walk right into the middle of the next crisis once he gets back down to the living room.

He isn’t entirely sure what the problem is, initially, because for the first ten or so minutes, Laura refuses to do anything but mumble angrily into a couch cushion. Peter sets Cora down in her playpen so he can sit down next to Laura and pull her into his lap, stroking her hair, and brushing away her tears while she sniffles about being tired. 

Then he makes the mistake of suggesting a nap, which results in Laura rolling onto the floor, and shrieking at him that, “Naps are for babies, I don’t want to nap!”

Peter knows enough about 9-year-old logic by now, at least, to not point out that she could’ve just slept a little longer, and avoided this whole mess right from the start. Instead, he tells her, as calmly as he can, that he’ll be doing things around the house, and that she’s welcome to talk to him again once she’s calmed down.

It makes him feel terrible to walk away from her, screaming and thrashing there on the floor, even though the kids’ therapist has assured him, time and again, that neither forcing her to talk when she’s worked herself up like this, nor holding her when she doesn’t want to be held are going to help in the long run. 

After making sure Cora’s okay—she doesn’t seem bothered by her sister’s tantrum, babbling seriously at one of her stuffed animals—Peter leaves the living room. Laura keeps yelling for a few more minutes, before Peter hears her start talking to Cora. She’s complaining about Peter being mean, sure, but at least she’s stopped crying.

Peter takes advantage of the ensuing, relative peace to hang up the laundry, do last night’s dishes, clean the kitchen, and pick up the toys that are strewn all over the hallway, keeping half an ear out for any more potential disasters all the while. Despite that, it takes him an embarrassing forty five minutes to realise that it’s just a little bit too quiet; he can hear Laura and Cora playing down in the living room, but he hasn’t heard a peep out of Derek the whole time he’s been doing chores. 

At first glance, Derek’s room looks empty, but Peter can make out his heartbeat now that he’s a little closer. He follows the sound of it to the closet, where he finds Derek curled up in a pile of pilfered clothes, only a tuft of dark hair peeking out from under a shirt Peter’s been looking for all week. 

Unlike Laura, Derek practically melts into Peter’s hold when Peter gently pulls him out of his hidey-hole, burying his face in Peter’s shoulder, and clinging tightly to Peter’s neck. He doesn’t cry, but, somehow, the eery, so very unchildlike silence is always much worse.

“What’s all this about, darling?” Peter asks, and brushes his fingers through Derek’s hair before pressing the back of his hand to Derek’s forehead. “Are you feeling alright?” 

Derek doesn’t feel unusually hot, which is both good as well as bad news; good because werewolf children get sick so rarely, they tend to be holy terrors whenever they actually manage to catch a bug, and bad because if it isn’t a cold, Peter isn’t sure what to do about Derek’s apathetic state. 

The one thing Peter can do, though, is offer physical comfort, so he carries Derek downstairs with him, and keeps holding him while he tells Laura to get ready, and then while he’s overseeing the teeth brushing to make sure she doesn’t skip it again. Laura’s still grumbly, but Peter can smell the embarrassment on her, telling him that she knows she’s thrown a tantrum over nothing. 

He leaves Laura to assemble her outfit, checks in on Cora again, and goes to dress Derek. Which is a process. Derek isn’t exactly a fan of wearing clothes, what with being prone to shifting whenever he doesn’t know how to handle a situation, and at home, Peter lets him run around naked, furry or not, if he wants to. They’re ‘wolves, none of them have any shame when it comes to nudity.

But John Stilinski is human, and humans tend to get weird around naked people. 

Derek doesn’t look thrilled at the prospect of pants, going completely limp when Peter holds out a pair of jeans for him to step into. He looks up at Peter from where his lying on the floor, eyes big and wet, making Peter huff out a resigned breath. 

“You know the rules,” he says, folding the jeans back up. “Outside, we’re wearing clothes.”

“Not on full moons,” Derek counters, mouth set stubbornly.

“Not during full moon runs, no,” Peter allows, and picks Derek up again, sitting him on the edge of the bed. “But it’s not a full moon.” 

The jeans get put back in the closet, swapped for Paige’s leggings from yesterday. Peter puts them on the bed next to Derek, who watches the proceedings suspiciously, but isn’t complaining so far. Peter slips across the hall for a moment, digging a pair of fuzzy socks out of Laura’s hamper, and adds them to the leggings. Next, he gets the V-neck Derek’d been using as a blanket earlier, and, finally, goes to fetch one of Cora’s unused burp cloths. 

And, thankfully, the familiar scents of his pack and best friend do the trick, and Derek lets Peter dress him with minimal scowling. He looks ridiculous, swimming in the too big shirt, with the pink socks barely staying on his feet, clashing horribly with the leggings, and the cloth tied around his head like he just stepped out of _Rambo_. But he smells mostly calm, if not entirely happy, and doesn’t even kick off the socks when Peter settles him on his hip, which is a minor miracle. 

“Uncle Peter?” Laura calls from the bathroom, and Peter immediately knows there’s something else wrong, because that’s the exact same tone of voice she used when she accidentally kicked a football into her fishtank. “Help? Please?”

So Peter spends the next twenty minutes untangling a brush from her hair, a clingy Derek in his lap, and Laura unable to sit still, wiggling around constantly, and shooting Peter betrayed looks over her shoulder whenever he pulls too hard at the brush.

“How did this happen, anyway?” Peter grumbles, carefully tugging free another strand of hair. “You brush your hair every day, usually without accidents.”

Laura just hums and shrugs, which is entirely unhelpful, and then tries to skip away as soon as Peter’s successfully freed the brush. Peter snags her by a belt loop, and ignores her pout while brushing her hair out himself, and then pulling it back into a ponytail. Just to be on the safe side. 

When that’s done, and both Derek and Laura have peed and washed their hands, it’s a quarter to nine, and they’ll definitely be late. And then Cora has to be changed, again, because she threw what little she’d drunk of her formula up all down her front, and they don’t actually make it out to the car until shortly after nine.

No one pukes, cries, or shifts on the drive over to the Stilinski house, though, which is at least something.

Peter parks behind the police cruiser in the driveway, then goes about unbuckling the kids. Derek easily accepts his help, Laura insists she can do it herself because she’s almost ten, “Honestly, Uncle Peter,” and Cora smacks him in the chin, twice, while he’s lifting her out of the car. 

Laura, of course, has already run off and rung the doorbell before Peter even makes it around the car, because she has zero self-preservation instincts, and Peter is the most unqualified person in the state, at the very least, to teach her proper manners. 

John doesn’t seem to mind, opening the door with Stiles in his arms, a huge smile on his face, and a cheerful, “Come on in, breakfast’s just about ready.”

With Cora in one arm and Derek in the other, all Peter can do in greeting is shrug helplessly, and say, “Sheriff. Apologies for being late. Again.”

“It’s John. Again,” John says, gesturing them inside. “And don’t worry about it. Kids, huh?” 

Cora is watching Stiles as they all trudge into the kitchen, squinting a little as if she’s not sure how excited she is to see him. When Peter puts her down in the high chair John nods at, though, all the way across the table from the one John plops Stiles into, she shoots an offended look at Peter.

Breakfast is messy, but much less chaotic than Peter’s used to with two adults present. Laura chatters happily about her weekend so far, preventing the situation from turning awkward, and John is nice enough to cut up a few pancakes for Cora as well as Stiles when Derek refuses to sit in his own chair. From his perch on Peter’s lap, he mostly watches Stiles, looking absolutely enthralled. Peter has no idea why, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth, only nudges Derek every now and again to take another bite, and reminds Laura to slow down whenever she tries to talk with her mouth full. 

When Stiles and Cora start throwing their food at each other instead of actually eating it, they move the party to the living room. There are playmats laid out, littered with toys, and Peter puts Cora down next to Stiles after more or less wiping her face and hands clean. Stiles immediately hands Cora some of his trucks, and they start an involved game of driving them into each other while shriek-giggling manically.

Derek attaches himself to Peter’s leg as soon as he straightens up again, shooting glances at John as he carries their drinks over to the coffee table. Laura wanders off to inspect the bookshelves, and sniffs as if insulted when Peter tells her, “Be careful, sweetheart.”

“Hey, don’t worry about her,” John says, nudging Peter’s side as he walks by again. He nods at Stiles, adding, “I don’t keep anything I would mind being broken down here anymore since that one started walking.” 

Peter can’t very well tell him that werewolf children are on a whole other level when it comes to accidental destruction, but he doesn’t want to make the kids sound like some sort of hooligans, either. It’s not their fault that it takes a while to grow into werewolf strength and senses, after all. 

Laura saves him from having to come up with an explanation by exclaiming, “Mr Sheriff, you have UNO! Can we play?” 

“What is it with you Hales and names?” John grins at Peter, before schooling his face, and telling Laura, “Sure, kiddo. And you don’t have to call me Sheriff when I’m off duty, alright?”

“Okay, Mr John,” Laura chirps, skipping back over to them, waving the box of cards. “You have to deal, Uncle Peter always cheats.” 

“Slander,” Peter says innocently, when John arches an eyebrow at him. “Slander and lies.”

They settle down around the coffee table so Peter and John can keep an eye on Cora and Stiles. John snatches the box away when Peter reaches for it, making Laura smirk triumphantly, and even Derek snicker for a second, before he remembers he’s being shy, and quickly clambers into Peter’s lap so he can hide his face in Peter’s neck. 

The first round goes to Peter, without cheating, but then Laura and John team up to take him down, forcing him to pick up extra cards, or just skipping him entirely. After a while, Derek helps by not very subtly holding up fingers and whispering the colours of Peter’s cards at Laura, which both Peter and John choose to ignore because it’s too cute to interrupt. 

When Peter catches a whiff of dirty diaper, nearly an hour later, he calls for a break. John offers to go make bottles for the babies while Peter changes Cora, and Laura is in a good enough mood to agree without complaining when Peter asks her to help Derek find the bathroom. 

He’s settling Cora back down on the mats next to Stiles with her bottle when Derek and Laura come back, Laura announcing loudly, “There are pictures of Mrs Claudia in the hallway.”

John, crouched by Peter’s side to rub Stiles’ stomach while he drinks, tenses ever so slightly at that. Before Peter gets a chance to figure out why, Laura blunders on, “She was my favourite teacher in kindergarten. But she left when Derek was in her class and didn’t come back.”

And, well. After that, it isn’t very difficult to put the pieces together. 

Peter remembers, vaguely, Talia telling him that the Sheriff’s wife had passed, over a year ago now, and the PTA moms having an argument about if and how to tell the kids. He isn’t sure what they agreed on, but it obviously wasn’t to be entirely truthful with them. 

“Laura.” Peter hesitates, but then decides there’s no use beating around the bush. Very carefully not looking at John, he says, “Mrs Stilinski—Mrs Claudia died, sweetheart.”

Derek hurries over to press against Peter as Laura’s face falls, eyes going wide. “Oh,” she says, swallowing loudly. Then, to Peter’s shocked dismay, she walks right up to John, and throws her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry, Mr John. Our parents are gone, too.”

“Laura,” Peter hisses, quickly picking Derek up so he can stand. 

He goes to pry her off, but before he can, John stands up, too—which is made awkward because he doesn’t seem to want to dislodge the girl hanging off of him—and puts an arm around Laura’s shoulders, apparently okay with her pressing her face into his stomach. He gently rubs his free hand over her head, and Peter politely turns away when he starts murmuring quietly to her, carrying Derek over to the couch. 

At least Cora and Stiles haven’t picked up on the shift in mood, still sucking away contentedly at their bottles. 

“Uncle Peter.” Derek is looking up at Peter, hands curled into Peter’s cardigan. “I hope mom and dad and Mrs Claudia are friends. I don’t want them to be all alone where they are now.”

Peter absolutely refuses to cry in front of the kids and a near stranger, but it’s harder said than done. “I’m sure they are, darling,” he manages, voice rough, and presses a lingering kiss to Derek’s forehead. 

The couch dips when Laura comes to snuggle up to them, and then again when John sits down on Peter’s other side. John’s eyes are damp, and he smells understandably sad, but he smiles when he catches Peter glancing at him, full of understanding.

It's—it's a lot. 

Peter has to look away after a moment, and clear his throat before suggesting, "How about a rematch?"

**Author's Note:**

> This story is also a part of the [prompt challenge](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works) I'm running with [InnerCinema](http://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerCinema), filling the "new pairing" prompt.
> 
> Go check out my other [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works), or come over and say hi on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com).


End file.
